Wide Open
by Man of Many Pairings
Summary: Jasper Whitlock is a wide receiver at Texas A&M. Edward Masen is a cornerback at Alabama. Both are declaring for the NFL Draft. *insert shocking revelations and a wistful remark about star-crossed lovers here* Details and warnings inside. Jaspward, AU. Rated M for reasons. Please to R&R? :)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**** Hi y'all! This is going to be my second large multi-chapter story. I'm very happy to finally start publishing this one; I feel confident in how much I love this pairing and this alternate universe in which I've placed them. I will probably alternate publishing chapters of "On The Border" and this story. I hope everyone enjoys! I'm dedicating this chapter to all the readers who have favorited and reviewed my stories; I appreciate every single one of you, past, present, and future. Please keep sending the love and critique my way, it does truly help.**

**Warnings: slash, potential lemons, mentions of death, character depression, and depictions of sports injuries. Also scenes containing many shirtless athletes that could potentially cause the simultaneous combustion of the feels.**

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**Chapter 1**

Jasper Whitlock was upset. Actually, make that goddamned _pissed_.

"What in God's holy name was _that_?!" The student section, in apparent agreement with Jasper, was also conveying their disapproval with the situation rather vehemently.

The mammoth of a man who stood over him guffawed stupidly. "That was defense, 86!" The way his unsightly paunch rippled when he laughed was reminiscent of Jabba the Hutt.

Jasper snapped to his feet like a lightning bolt and pressed his facemask right up against the defensive lineman's. His eyes were on fire, sheer rage illuminating his jade green irises. "No, that was unnecessary roughness, asshole! You sucker punch me after the whistle like that again, and I swear on my grandpa's grave that you will not make it out of this stadium with both arms intact!"

The defensive player's face turned from a smirk into an ugly grimace. "You better watch your mouth, you fucking queer. Just because a faggot was named All-American doesn't mean I can't knock your faggoty ass all the way back to little league!"

Jasper's eyes got even brighter, but an eerie calm had settled on his face. He took a step back and shook his head. "Wrong answer, fat ass." The pudgy defender shouted something else, but he didn't hear it. Instead, he turned to trot back to the huddle. It was only then that he realized that the referee had blown the whistle after the play. He turned to see a yellow flag being picked up, and the field judge turned on his microphone. His nasal voice echoed throughout the stadium. "Unnecessary roughness, number 92, of the defense. Fifteen yard penalty, automatic first down." The crowd erupted in cheers as the referee motioned for a new set of downs with his arm, and the ball was placed even closer to the goal line.

The PA system at Kyle Field boomed with the voice of its excited announcer. "The fifteen yard penalty on number 92, Alec Evans, results in an Aggie first down!" Another extremely loud cheer resounded from the fans. Jasper pumped his fist in the air to show the crowd he was unscathed, which incited them to chants of "WHIT-LOCK! WHIT-LOCK!"

Damn, he loved playing here.

Four years ago, after an outstanding high school career (which saw Jasper hoist the first state championship trophy in his small-town Texas high school's history and earn the national title of Number Two Top Recruit), Signing Day had come around. Jasper had to choose between Ohio State, Oklahoma, LSU, and Texas A&M. The handsome Texas native had narrowed it down to OSU and A&M, but in the end it was loyalty to his father's alma mater that pushed him to don a maroon and white Aggie cap in front of a decent sized press conference that day. Looking back, he couldn't dream of picking any other place to play football. The 12th Man always had his back, the games were always exciting and full of tradition, and the fact that they hadn't had a losing record since he'd been there certainly didn't hurt. Hell, he even loved Reveille, the collie mascot that barked on the sideline during games... and he was allergic!

Now, during his senior year, the stars had aligned. Everything was coming up roses for the Aggieland faithful; they had marched through the season uncontested, dispatching every opponent with ease. The usually dominant SEC defensive strongholds were proving to be no match for the high-powered A&M offense; headed by their quarterback Riley O'Connor, and boosted by the sensational Charlie Clarendon at fullback, Jasper Whitlock was simply the emphatic capstone on an point-scoring powerhouse that ran on a potent octane of momentum, adrenaline, and an occasional dash of pure dumb luck.

His agility and handling skills were impressive, to say the least; he proved so elusive that poorly made bootleg t-shirts had been popping up featuring his likeness sloppily pasted onto the figure of a ghoul, with the slogan "Jasper the Speedy Ghost" accompanying the ridiculous image. Whenever he saw one on campus, he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the horrendous pun and/or rip the fashion crime right off the person's back. Luckily, ESPN had yet to pick up the moniker...

Now, with one game left until the bowl season, the undefeated Aggies had to overcome a significant obstacle in the University of Florida Gators. If they won, they'd be punching a ticket to the SEC Championship in New Orleans. If they lost now, they'd miss out on any chance to play in a major bowl game, and any shot at being remembered forever.

The scoreboard read 28-23 in favor of the Gators as the clock wound down to a mere minute left to play. O'Connor's cannon of a throwing arm had gotten them close, but their momentum had stalled near the 25-yard line, and they needed to make a play now or else risk running out of time; they had no timeouts, and their methodical, no-nonsense style didn't work so well in no-huddle situations. After trotting to a stop and having the ball sail well out of reach above his head, Jasper had been leveled out of nowhere by this asshole of a defender. Because of the penalty, Whitlock and Company found themselves at the 10, with one last chance to win the game.

Jasper took a deep breath.

_... doesn't mean I can't knock that your faggoty ass all the way back to little league..._

He needed to calm down, before he did something stupid to that Neanderthal and got himself suspended.

_... you fucking queer..._

The words themselves didn't hurt; it was the fact that many people in this day and age still thought that ridiculous prejudice _could_ hurt that made him so very pissed off. To think that someone's sexual orientation had any significant bearing on their character, hobbies, or personality, was absurd. If any one person was evidence to back that up, it was Jasper Whitlock. Even though it was an integral part of who he was, he'd never let his sexuality define him.

Sure, the macho, showboat persona was accompanied by a pinch of flamboyancy, and since middle school he had made no efforts to quell the rumors that he was gay. But out of a rare stroke of humility he'd waited to explicitly come out until late into his freshman year of college. It came as no surprise to his (thankfully) progressive-minded parents. The media, however, had a field day. Being as good as he was, he was an easy target for sports talk shows and water cooler debates: can gays really play sports without either getting chased out, running away, or getting the shit beat out of them? His team had been incredibly supportive (if only because he was just that talented), but there were some other players around the country that said outright they would have refused to play if he'd been on their team. With the media firestorm threatening to spiral out of control, the NCAA had been forced to release a statement, underlining the importance of the league's non-discrimination policy and asserting the inclusion of LGBT athletes in it as well. It had been a huge deal, and a great milestone for gays in sports at every level, but for once Jasper hated the attention he got. He viewed it as one more reason for a guy to aim at your knees during a tackle or block, and he was relieved when the camera crews finally stopped parking outside his dorm.

Of course, none of this meant he wasn't proud of who he was, and it certainly didn't grant people the right to toss it around lightly or demean it with malicious insults.

This was why Alec Evans was going to be in for a world of hurt on the next play.

Jasper arrived at the huddle, greeted by multiple pats on the helmet by his teammates. "Damn, Whitlock, that was a nasty hit!" said the sophomore at right tackle whose last name was Redman. The new guy was a temporary replacement, a warm body that gave the starter a couple of downs to rest; Jasper had yet to actually learn his first name, and felt a slight twinge of guilt. He tried to be outgoing and genial to all, and was very good with names. He made a mental note to learn what it was later.

"Ah, it was alright. I give it a six-and-a-half out of ten; It lacked originality, and the performance failed to pack a punch. But I'd like to return the favor, if you don't mind. Perhaps a screen?" He looked knowingly at his team, who nodded in agreement. O'Connor had the final call as team captain, so Jasper turned to him for the go-ahead.

Riley shook his head and sighed sarcastically. "Why the fuck not? You pulled it off against Ole Miss. Gentlemen, let's do a 22 PA Sweep Screen, on five. Ready?"

"Break!" they shouted in unison as they jogged off to the line. Jasper took his place for the play they had run about a million times in practice. The fans were in true form and on their feet, yelling at the top of their lungs as their team made one final attempt to nab victory from the jaws of defeat. He could hear the linemen dig their heels into the turf, bracing themselves for the powerful blitz that was sure to come. He heard Riley scream the snap count over the noise, and on the fifth "hut", the play began.

Jasper knew what was going to happen even before the leather touched O'Connor's fingers. The defense was set up for a double linebacker blitz, and that meant Riley was going to have to pop the ball out quickly. Fortunately, that's what he did. The three wide outs had positioned themselves to the right of the pocket, with Jasper in the middle. While the other two ran ahead to block for him, he turned and waited for the ball to land in his arms. When it did, he had a clear alley to the goal line. Except, of course, for number 92, Alec Evans, the left defensive end. Having studied the defense meticulously for the entire game, Jasper knew that his adversary had a tendency to cheat outside and drop into coverage, meaning that when Riley dropped back to pass, everyone else down the field would either be blocked or too far to left field to catch up. Logically, this left Evans as the only player in position to make the tackle.

Obviously, Jasper was going to make good on his promise.

He saw the husky Evans foolishly straighten up into a more upright stance. This was perfect because all Jasper had to do was lower his shoulder and, with a burst of speed from his powerful legs, plow right through him. Evans raised his arms as if to slow down the freight train coming toward him, and Jasper heard a loud crack when his shoulder pad connected with Evans' left forearm. He would wait until later to laugh at the hilarious irony. He hadn't actually meant to break the bastard's arm, but it seemed like God was in a good mood today.

Having knocked the homophobe clear on his ass, Jasper waltzed into the end zone untouched. There was no time left on the clock. Final score: Aggies, 29, Gators, 28. He barely had time to catch his breath before being promptly swarmed by the student section, the cheerleaders, and his teammates. The band was playing the fight song. The players were waving their helmets in the air. Their opponents were limping off the field, shock and defeat apparent on their face. A dejected-looking Evans was nursing his now-bandaged arm, his head bowed in shame. As they reveled in their victory at midfield, Jasper made sure to take a picture with his mind.

"WHIT-LOCK! WHIT-LOCK!"

This was definitely one of the best moments of his life, and he wanted to remember it forever. The parties, congratulations, and many drinks afterward were mostly a blur, but he would always look back on that moment as the day he proved himself, the day he let everyone know that it was going to take a lot more than mere name-calling to get rid of Jasper Whitlock.

His plans for the future were still murky with doubt, but the adoration that came with being the team's super star? He was beginning to think it might just be worth it.

**End of Chapter 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**** Okay, I've had some severe writer's block recently for the seventh installment of On The Border, but I have the next couple chapters of this story ready to go, so I'll go ahead and post this one now. I'm sorry for the delays; I know this is beginning to sound like a common refrain, but I genuinely am sorry. It turns out being a Music Education major is a lot more difficult than it sounds, haha. But I will be more active on FanFiction when classes wind down near the end of the year and I have a whole month to dedicate to writing stuff for y'all! YAY! Also, I do try to reply to every review that I can, because I value the opinions of my readers. If I missed someone, I apologize; a few weeks ago my email suddenly decided that FF emails were spam, so I went two whole weeks thinking that no one loved me anymore and no one was reading my stories. Dx But I fixed it, so it's back to normal! I'm dedicating this chapter to all my reviewers; y'all keep me going and keep me motivated to bust my ass to write the next chapter. I wouldn't be here without y'all. Thank you. Enjoy Chapter 2! (Let me know what y'all think of the contrast between Jasper and Edward, and what y'all think will happen if they ever meet... ;D)**

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**Chapter 2**

Edward Masen was distraught. Actually, make that goddamned _hysterical_.

"_Where the FUCK is it_?!" he was snatching clothes one at a time out of his hamper, turning any pockets inside out before dispensing the item onto the floor and grabbing another.

The misplaced _it_ in question was his lucky totem: a small rectangular keychain with a cartoonish Chicago skyline, with his hometown's apt (yet still extremely cliché) nickname "The Windy City" painted above it in tacky bright letters. Nearly identical souvenirs could be purchased at nearly every airport gift shop or convenience store souvenir rack in the Upper Midwest, but this particular keychain was unique: it had severe burn damage on the lower lefthand corner, giving one of its four corners the appearance of having been roughly hacked off. Sure, it was garish, and even Edward occasionally shook his head at how truly ugly the thing was. But that was why he clung to it all the more. It was his sole possession that contained a symbol of what he'd lost... it reminded him of-

"Dude, calm down, I found it! It's right here behind your nightstand!"

His roommate, Emmett McCarthy, pulled his hand out from the crack in between the nightstand and the wall of their dorm and jingled the hideous memento in front of Edward's face. He smirked when Edward snatched it testily out of his grasp and closed his fist around it. He brought the clutched hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, tears forming in his eyes.

"Thank you," said Edward with a set jaw and a blink of his ocean blue eyes. Then he shook his head to regain his focus. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just... this is my mojo. I don't play well without it. I don't play without it, _period_."

"It's alright, man. I completely understand. I feel the same way about my cleats. You know I've used the same cleats for three years? They collect the dirt from all the good games, and build good luck. If we lose, I wipe 'em off with a rag, and it wipes the slate clean." He shrugged his shoulders, his carefree manner always a comfort to Edward in times of stress (which nowadays seemed more often than not). "I'm just glad we found it. We wouldn't want our star defender getting cold feet the day of the Iron Bowl, now would we?"

_No_, thought Edward to himself. _No, we certainly would not_.

The final game of the regular season for the University of Alabama was always against Auburn. The rivalry between the Crimson Tide and the Tigers had long been considered one of the most prestigious match-ups in college football; the game was almost always close, and many had gone down in the books as some of the most exciting moments in the history of the sport. Due to the amount of toughness and sheer grit required to compete against one another, the annual meeting had come to be known as the Iron Bowl. On Iron Bowl Saturday, the entire state of Alabama stopped everything to bond over mutual hatred.

Of course, Edward knew all this, probably more than he ever wanted to know. While he was born in Chicago, his parents had divorced when he was seven, and his mother had moved back to her hometown of Birmingham soon afterward. During third grade, when circumstances... changed, he had moved in with her parents at their modest suburban home. Naturally, years of Saturday afternoons with plenty of his favorite root beer and his grandfather screaming at the television had taught Edward to take the Iron Bowl very seriously.

One of the very first things he'd learned was that, when it comes to college football in Alabama, there is no such thing as neutrality: you either screamed "Roll Tide!" or "War Eagle!", and once you chose, there was no turning back. Most people would settle for casting dirty glares at the opposition on game days, but for others it was much more serious. For these hardcore fanatics, a much stricter code of allegiance was in effect: you belonged to whomever your family supported, and you double-crossed them at your own peril. It was no laughing matter; when he was in the sixth grade, he had a friend named Mike whose parents (diehard Auburn alums) grounded him for a week for inviting Luke Whitman, a kid down the street, over to play. The reason? Luke's house had a 'Bama flag hanging from its front porch. In eighth grade, rumors spread that Angela Paulson, a senior at the local high school, had run away from home because her parents had refused to let her talk to an Auburn admissions representative about a full ride athletic scholarship.

All of this was too much partisanship for Edward, who was more diplomatic in nature. So when his grandmother had convinced him to try out for the football team during his freshman year of high school, he was terrified at first. He had not considered himself very athletic before then; he was a scrawny kid, with little muscle mass and a tendency to bruise easily, and had never been too keen on physical contact. But during tryouts, he realized that he was faster than anyone in his class, completing the relay drills way ahead of the other guys without so much as a bead of sweat. After making the team, he had worked with his coach to cultivate that skill; after two years of hard practice and an unexplainable drive to succeed, he became known among his peers as Eddie Lightning, the quickest football player in the state. He filled any shoes the coach needed him in, from running back to punt returner, but his favorite position was on defense. Being a cornerback was the best because you got to really hit someone, and when you made big plays, people noticed you the most... and notice they did.

Edward blossomed as a player during his junior year, when he successfully persuaded Coach Williams to permanently install him at cornerback. He promptly turned into a one-man demolition crew, demolishing any offense they faced. He batted down passes, plugged any holes in the line during draw plays, led the team in interceptions, and broke the school record for forced fumbles in one season. Even when the other team caught on and began shifting the plays away from his side of the field, he would find ways to cause problems and make scoring an impossibility. They won the state championship the next season, and by then Edward had caught the attention of several major programs. Obviously, two of those schools were Alabama and Auburn. He wasn't considered the best in the country (being ranked fifth overall prospect in the state was a good achievement, but not sensational). However, his talent merited at least a little bit of publicity on Signing Day. Despite interest from several out-of-state programs, his family's lack of significant financial means combined with his grandmother's wish to remain within reasonable driving distance had convinced him to sign with either Alabama or Auburn.

This whole time, he'd worked hard to keep himself above the Iron Bowl fray, but of course Fate was now forcing him to choose a side. Neither of his grandparents had gone to college, while both of his parents had attended (and fallen madly in love at) the University of Chicago, so he had no family ties to help him out. Visits to both campuses were equally fruitless. Ultimately, when he was sitting at the kitchen table, poring over leaflets and information packets at his wit's end, his grandma had paused and looked up from her dishes. Then she'd said, almost to herself, "Honey, if you really can't decide, go to the school where you feel like you're needed the most." Though simple, it had stuck with him. The athletic director in Auburn had told him that they weren't really looking for corners but would definitely take him on and see if he could compete for the starting position. On the other hand, Alabama's defensive coordinator had all but groveled for his commitment, as they were desperate for depth on defense. With a rare grin on his face, he'd leapt from the table, jumped over the small kitchen island, and picked up his grandma, hugging her tightly and thanking her profusely for the advice until she demanded he put her down.

He committed to the Crimson Tide the following day, and since then, he'd been cautiously optimistic about the future. It hadn't been a very easy transition, though.

Before he had really transitioned to college life, he'd acted the same way on campus as he had in high school. He masqueraded behind the self he'd always used to separate himself from society: a quiet, shy, almost bookish kid who just happened to play football. You'd never know anything else about him unless you locked him in a room and interrogated him for a solid half hour.

Right off the bat, he realized that he couldn't fulfill his dream of going through life completely invisible. How did he come to know this? Roommates. If he'd had any choice, he would have forgone the repugnant concept of sharing a living space with a relative stranger altogether. Unfortunately, all incoming freshmen are required to reside on-campus in one of the several dorms, all of which house at least two people to a room. After receiving his room assignment, Edward discovered that he had been paired with his polar opposite: Emmett McCarthy, a stocky, brutish teddy bear that loved people, attention, and women. Edward was indifferent toward people; it was the socializing he hated. As for attention, Edward had long since become quite adept at fading into the background, so as to never be seen by anyone. Ever since... well, ever since third grade, he figured he'd had enough attention for one lifetime. The difficult variable in this equation was women. Edward respected women and appreciated their often undervalued role in society. But as for sexual attraction, it was nonexistent for him. No matter what he did, or how hard he tried, he never could see himself doing anything with a woman that wasn't completely platonic. Edward had eventually put the pieces together in high school when he found himself daydreaming a lot more about the men's basketball team than the cheerleaders, but he'd never told anyone. Who was there to tell? He sure as hell couldn't tell his grandparents; his grandmother might be understanding, but she was still a product of her generation, and was married to one of the most opinionated (and usually prejudiced) men in the neighborhood (hell, maybe in all of Alabama... "Grampa" Sid Roberts had to be in the top 50 statewide, at least). He didn't have friends; it was against his motto of "always blend in, never stand out". So he'd kept it entirely to himself, letting it gnaw on his brain until he really thought he was going to lose it. Then, out of nowhere, his rescue had come in the form of this hulk of a man with whom he was now sharing a room.

XXXX

It was a couple months into the semester, and Edward was sitting at his desk studying for an upcoming calculus exam. Emmett, who had been lying on his bed listening to music, sat up. "I got it! You're gay, right?"

It came like a bolt from the blue. Edward froze in the middle of typing an equation into his calculator. His hand twitched, causing him to violently jab his pencil into his notebook and break the sharpened lead tip with a pert, resounding _crunch_. "What the hell makes you think that?" He sounded way too defensive, and he knew it.

Emmett laughed in his very loud, boisterous way and rolled his eyes. "Dude, are you kidding me? I have scary good gaydar, and it doesn't help that you're insanely self-conscious in the locker room after practice. So you are gay?" Emmett's hearty grin faltered ever so slightly when he saw the look of panicked terror on Edward's face. "I'm taking that silence as a yes. Don't worry, man, I don't care. I don't judge, and it's not like I'm the only person who knows, right?" His eyes widened from the apparent epiphany when he was met with embarrassed silence. "Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that not only are you gay, but I'm the only one who knows about it?! Not even your family? No old friends?"

Edward finally spoke up, his eyes glued to his shoes and his posture slouched. "It's not exactly something you just spring on your devout evangelical grandparents, now is it?" He paused for a moment, amazed at his newfound spunk (or was it insanity?), then continued. "And I don't have any friends from high school, or from anywhere for that matter. Does that answer your question?" He almost winced at how bitter he sounded.

After a bit of silence, he finally mustered up the courage to look across the small room. Emmett wore a very sincere expression of compassion, which was extremely surprising. Edward was expecting a look of pity, perhaps even scorn. Instead, he found a person who was genuinely sympathetic toward his circumstance and eager to listen. Emmett said, "Hey, I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to even bring it up. I had no idea what trouble that might bring you, and I should have waited before blurting it out of my fucking stupid mouth."

Edward gave the smallest of smiles and shook his head. "No, it's alright. I think I'm actually glad that someone else finally knows. It was just surprising and out of nowhere, that's all." He tilted his head to the side inquisitively. "Come to think of it, why'd you ask in the first place?"

It was Emmett's turn to feel embarrassed. He blushed a little bit on the tips of his large ears and said quickly, "I was thinking about why you're so damn introverted. You don't go to any parties, and you have this kind of sad vibe that follows you everywhere."

Half-amused and half-alarmed, Edward said, "Jesus, am I really that bad?" His face wrinkled at the thought of such an unpleasant description.

Emmett laughed again. "Let's just say you're no Johnny Sunshine. But it's nothing some booze and a night out can't fix." He winked mischievously, and Edward laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in a long time.

"One more thing, Eddie."

"What?"

Emmett raised his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest. "Just FYI, you're not allowed to say you don't have friends anymore. I'm your friend, okay?" He leaned back and put his headphones back on before Edward had a chance to reply.

Edward smiled a broad grin. "If you insist." He returned to his calculus, thoroughly unable to study.

XXXX

They had been thick as thieves ever since, and Edward was extremely grateful for Emmett's companionship both as a friend and teammate. Without him, he had no idea how he would have survived the first two years of college in Tuscaloosa. It was great to have someone watch your back and help you gain the respect of your teammates. Of course, Emmett was practically best friends with anyone who'd worn the numbered crimson helmet in the past three years; Edward might never have even met some of his fellow football players had Emmett not introduced him. Where Edward might have fallen through the cracks (of which there were many), Emmett had been there to make sure he hadn't.

Still, Edward hadn't told another living soul about his sexuality; Emmett had been there through it all to help Edward out, so it made it that much harder to think about leaving school next year. It felt awkward to ask Emmett if they wanted to rent an apartment, but it made Edward panic to think of facing the world without him holding his hand and leading him down the right paths.

"Bro, we're gonna be late! Are you ready?" Emmett snatched his duffel bag from his closet and made a motion toward the front door of their small on-campus apartment.

"As ready as we'll ever be!" Edward, keychain still in hand, also grabbed his bag and they walked out the door to the stadium across campus, where the biggest game of their lives was about to begin. Little did they know that the worst game of their lives was also about to unfold.

**End of Chapter 2**


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